Mundane Happiness
by A Random Bowser
Summary: QLFC Round 5 Fred and George are setting up shop.


_**Prompt**_

 **Round 5 –** **Canon Mystery Box**

 **CHASER 1:** You must choose to write either the scenario prompt, quote prompt or head!canon prompt. Choose carefully though, as your fellow chasers must write the other two. HARRY POTTER QUOTE: "It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet."

 **Characters/Pairing:**

 **Prompts:**

9\. (word) Dangerous

11\. (word) Atmosphere

15\. (word count) 1,000

 **Word Count (-AN): 1** 000, MSW

 **Note:** If it matters, I do not own Harry Potter in any form, except for the hard back copies of the books that sit on my shelf and they bring me no money. Thanks to my Captain, Ever, for looking over this fic for me!

QLFC Round 5

* * *

 _ **Mundane Happiness**_

It was the tapping of an owl at the window that woke George and had him rolling out of bed. Even from the crowded bedroom of the flat he shared with his twin, he could tell that Diagon Alley wasn't awake yet. Or rather, those upstanding members of the Alley who _were_ awake, were more than likely huddled over their teacups in an effort to summon the courage they needed to open their shops for the day.

The tapping ceased while George was rifling through his clothes, looking for something clean and presentable for the day. At one point in time, George had fought his brother on that rule, but with Verity, the pretty assistant who Fred had hired to help out with the shop, came a new set of rules.

George was unsurprised to find his brother sitting at their table with a cup of tea, the Daily Prophet spread open, declaring, in bold text, that the Dark Lord had struck again. Really, the summer would have been perfect were it not for the Daily Prophet's insistent need to overdramatize every situation that arose. The paper was a constant irritation, for not only did it report every odd disappearance and murder, but now, even completely random accidents were being printed as being the Dark Lord's fault. George found it to be annoying—as simple as that. Yes, You-Know-Who was someone to be feared, but really, what need did the great and all powerful wizard have for ten chickens from a farmer's henhouse? Not to mention the reasoning for the farmer to be missing, either.

"Maybe the Death Eaters got hungry so they decided to fry the hens," George said, pulling the paper from his brother's hands and pressing it into a ball. "I thought we were going to stop reading that thing?"

"No, you said _you_ were going to stop reading it. _I_ didn't." Fred took a sip of his tea and, with his foot, pushed the chair opposite him away from the table so that George could let himself slump into it.

"Well, if you _are_ going to insist on reading that dramatic waste of time, at least do it somewhere else. I refuse to let the depressing atmosphere that's overwhelmed the rest of Diagon Alley pervert our shop or our home. I don't care how dangerous it is—this is supposed to be a place of laughter and noise, flashes and explosions—how can we create that place if we're too busy doing what every other shopkeeper is?"

Fred rolled his eyes at his twin, although the gesture went unnoticed. George was looking down, studying the inside of his own teacup. The speech was not a new one. His brother had a tendency to give it every morning around the same time, and Fred had to hide his smile behind the rim of his mug. Ron wasn't the only brother he pranked; although, he had to be far more subtle with his twin. Fred was waiting for the morning when George realized that he gave the same speech at the same time every day, and was planning to stop reading the paper in a few more weeks to see if he would continue doing it without prompting.

The two brothers sat at opposite ends of the table as they sipped their morning tea and nibbled at the partially burnt toast George had made for them, waiting for the day to actually start. George was wondering about the stock and if they needed to make up more of the Skiving Snack Boxes, whilst Fred was wondering if maybe he should start fixing breakfast along with the tea in the mornings; he might not be a great cook, but Fred could manage not to burn the toast. He simply didn't like cooking. At all.

Then, with some unheard signal, the two of them stood, emptied the dregs from their cups and placed them in the sink alongside the plates and other dirty dishes they would wash at some point in the future—that point being the moment one of them went to retrieve a dish, only to realize they were out of everything.

It was peaceful. It was routine. And George was finding that, in spite of the grim reality that was bearing down upon the whole of wizarding Britain, he was happy. When they had left Hogwarts, George had been afraid the routine of owning and running a business with his brother would become boring, that the reality of it wouldn't be exciting enough to live up to the expectations either of them held for the future.

True, the exciting moments didn't come as often as they had when Fred and he had first started creating their pranks. Indeed, there was a lot of hard work involved in making sure that they had enough supplies, not to mention the worries of costs and paying Verity. But their dream was coming alive, and that made everything truly worth it.

"Unlock the doors for Verity, would you? She can start putting the product we finished last night on the shelves and setting the displays and posters while we get some more potions mixing." Fred was giving the orders as he followed George down the stairs. "That will free us up to work on those hats the Ministry ordered. I think I might still be in shock."

"That sounds like a solid plan, Forge, and while we're at it, we should go ahead and make up some gloves and cloaks as well. They haven't been ordered yet, but if the good people at MOM are willing to pay us to protect their heads, it makes sense that they would pay us to protect the rest of their bodies as well."

"Well said, Gred, well said," Fred declared, the two of them parting ways. George went to open the door for their assistant, and Fred headed into the backroom, flicking on the lights with a wave of his wand as he went.


End file.
